That is how her story began almost three years ago, she made her way forcibly into my life. Since then I have been stumbling around intellectually trying to grasp the skills necessary to convey what she tells me in a way that people will want to hear.
And she always begins her ranting through some connection with water. There is something about when I am around water that compels her to speak to me. Perhaps that is why I took the kids to the pool so many times this summer. I could hardly ever write there, mind you. A few times I would allow my Macbook to accompany me and I would tap away through the happy laughter and shouting of the kids.
So I think that is how my life as a writer began. I was looking for something more when I wasn't finding the color and depth that I was craving in certain aspects my life, so this was a way to do it without breaking any social norms.
This was the way I could be the stay at home mom my husband and I decided that we wanted for our children and I could let the stories play out within my head. It's not easy, sometimes the voices scream imperceptibly at me, unable to accept that I choose my children and husband first and foremost over them.
They are incredibly pushy. Sometimes they overcome me, and leave me in something like a cold sweat as they come in waves, there is no chance of containing them all. I have to believe, though, that the ones I successfully grasp are the ideas that are meant to remain. Even after they make me believe I am somewhat neurotic, I believe that there is a little bit of madness to any creative endeavor.
Often I lose the purpose of what the visions and voices are trying to tell me. Somewhere between the shower and the driveline at school, I lose bits and fragments. The atmosphere of the idea, or how one bit made the hair on my arms raise, so I knew it was right. My ideas are like bubbles blown out in wonder by a child, I'm running around trying to catch the one resting precariously on a single blade of grass before it pops.
No matter the successes and defeats, something inside me tells me to continue on. Though this may be the scenic route, I will arrive soundly and solidly at my destination. As I know writing is the journey. It is the discovery that what people say cannot be done, can in fact be accomplished and can be done with grace and stalwartness.